Okay
by liveinadive
Summary: At the end of it all, all they had was each other. And that was okay. Minor character death. Tarenn.


I like Glenn and Tara together. So does the ramblin rose. We were talking about how people should ship Tarenn. Unlike Rose, I'm not going to say it's OOC because I believe that given how diverse the show is in it's characterisations, this might actually happen, in like season twelve. So I wrote this. Yes, I am well aware of the fact Tara identifies as being a lesbian. Have a problem with this one shot in that context? Remove the spaces, add in some fancy website jargon, connect the dots and read the following post below. You might even learn something.

spanishrose2002 tumblr /post/ 96275916763 / sexuality-and-ignorance-cloaked-as-tolerance-does-not

I don't own The Walking Dead.

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><p>"I mean, I'm a piece of shit. Why would you even want my help?"<p>

Her words reverberate through his brain like a broken record, scratched, stuck on an endless looping repeat. He can feel them in every part of his bones. Her plaintive cry for help, shrouded in fake bravado, swims through his veins, choking him, giving him pause. He bends down, gingerly stretches out his knee and the corresponding hiss of pain gives credence to her words once more, her crippling self-doubt shadowing his every move and every thought.

Maggie is dead. Sasha and Bob are dead. They had happened upon their twisted corpses months earlier, crumpled beside the same bus he had meant to escape the prison on. He had mourned his wife almost exclusively in the time that followed. He had screamed, outraged at the world and the assholes who had ripped his wife away from him. Cried, at the agony of losing his first true love. Laughed, at the irony of it all. There were no bites. There were no scratches. There was only broken necks and slit throats, the precursor to a bullet to the head. Their tormentors had been human and Glenn had failed to save them. They had spent near on three years fighting the dead, only to have their lives ended by the living.

He hated himself.

He hated what he had become.

Tara had held him while he wept. When he was done, he cast her off as if he had been burned by her the very touch of her flesh. He had hit her. Cursed her. Blamed her. And she had taken the brunt of his grief. She stood stoic before him as he lost himself, surrendered to the madness trapped inside, begging, clawing, manic in it's effort to get out. He broke down, time and time again. He snapped at her. She stood her ground. He threw things. He taunted her with the memory of her niece, her sister, her father, great people of character, innocent people he had come to know through the sparkle in her eyes and the melodic tones of her voice in times of absolute quiet when she should have been sleeping but instead had shared pieces of herself with him, giving freely of herself and her pain. And she took it. Not a single tear nor a flinch as he poured years of frustration into a single nonsensical diatribe. The words are there. The emotions are there. They are scrambled, hurried, etched in tombs of pain. But she understands. She reads the names on his lips; sees their faces through his eyes, without their names even really being spoken.

Mom. Dad. Sisters, two. He never speaks their names. They are ghosts that haunt him, yes, but they are ghosts from before. They are separate from the family he grew to love on the road, these lives, their futures more important to him than his own sense of self.

_Beth._

_Amy._

_Andrea. Dale. Jim._

_Sophia. Carol. Daryl._

_Lori. T-Dog. Jacqui._

_Herschel._

_Maggie._

And now they are gone. All of them.

Most are dead. Carol? Daryl? If humanity had any hope it is held in their hands. He knows nothing of the Grimes family. Tyreese? Not a clue. He just knows that they are no longer here. They're gone.

All that remains is himself. Himself and Tara.

Tara.

He looks to his right, expecting to find her beside him, his ever loyal and steadfast companion. But she's not there. He looks to his left, searching for the familiar brown messy bun he tugs on in times of silliness, moments he manages to swallow down his misery just a little.

She isn't there.

In his instant, he is desperate. Ignoring his aching knee, he surges forward to the front landing of the house they have co-opted. His eyes sweep the front porch to no result and he cries out, unaware he has even done so and swings back to the kitchen where he had last seen her, curled up under his ever watchful gaze. Through chapped lips he croaks out her name and suddenly she appears before him, a vision of hope in his bleak, desolate life.

"Glenn?"

His only response is to throw himself forward, crashing his body against her own. She catches him, just barely, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him with the same amount of despair he is to her. Relief wracks through his body in the form of tearless sobs and she holds him still, pinning him to her.

"I'm here."

Her two word reassurance is his undoing. He sinks to the floor and she moves with him, their bodies melded together in some form of choreographed dance neither have performed before. Or at least not with each other.

He moves his body atop hers, his weight barely noticeable anymore he is so thin and she stares at him in wonder, unsure of what their next step will be.

She loves him. That much she knows. Not because he is the one person left in her tiny corner of the universe. Not because he is a broken shell of the determined man she once knew him to be and she needs to fix him. Not because he is the only one she knows and trusts and certainly not because there seem to be no other women left in the once great state of Georgia. She loves him because he is Glenn. _Glenn_. He is the man who choose not to persecute her for her past choices and regardless of whether his motivations at the time were selfish or not, he is the one who saved her life at the prison. He looked within himself and found something inside that made him rescue her, that made him take her under his wing and she can never repay that service. All she can do is love him.

She has been with a man before, in a physical sense. Before the end of the world. She identifies as a lesbian, but her idea of love depends not solely on gender. She doesn't discriminate based upon genitalia. She would be silly too. Her sexuality is something that helps define who she is but it does not define her. The heart wants what the heart wants and at this point in time, it wants Glenn. She's fought it for the longest time, argued with herself over the fact he is still grieving. Still healing. She can't take it any longer. She loves him and she wants to be able to show him that love. She needs to be able too.

Without a second thought she impulsively leans forward and presses a featherweight kiss to his Adam's apple. Her lips linger, feeling him swallow, biting down the bile he is he choking down far too often for her liking. He is sick. He is too thin. He is exhausted. She worries for him constantly, more so than she does herself. If he were to leave her... If his life was ripped away from him too, she would essentially cease to exist. She would have no reason too. She would plunge a knife into her own head, take a gun and end it all, before she would face the perils of this world alone. She doesn't believe in the notion of soul mates, but she believes in _him_.

For now, it is enough.

He hovers over her, a shaky hand reaching forward to brush a loose lock of hair from her eyes. He exhales noisily and closes his eyes briefly before opening them again slowly, attention focussed intently on her face.

"Hi."

He laughs nervously, like her greeting him in this manner isn't some everyday occurrence. "Hey."

They've been dancing around each other for a while now. Stolen kisses here and there. Quick pecks on the cheek. Light touches of lips. Brushing of hands. Holding of hands in the night, when they both suffer nightmares of the horrors they've seen and the people they've lost. An embrace, when they feel impossibly drawn to the prospect of just giving up and ceasing to go on. This is the final step toward sealing their commitment to each other, if they choose to go through with it.

"It's okay," she whispers breathily. His eyes are dark and heady and he's hesitating but he looks so wistful she almost wants to cry. "If you want this, I'm all in."

He responds by burying his face into her neck, nuzzling the salty sweet flesh behind her ear. A shiver runs through her and her hands travel to the small of his back, fisting into his shirt. She gasps loudly as his teeth graze her earlobe, a sensation she has craved for so long. He stops immediately and she curses her own stupidity. "No," she pleads with him. "Glenn, please, go on."

He pushes forward with her permission, trailing a line of kisses to her collarbone, sucking and drawing her bone dry flesh into his mouth like a starving man. Her hands slip up the tail of his shirt, pushing it toward his shoulders as she explores the planes of his back, fingers running over the prominent nubs of his spine. She feels a long jagged scar that travels from his left shoulder blade down to his right hip, raw and raised puckered skin as if the wound had only been inflicted yesterday.

He freezes, recalling how he had received it himself, a parting gift from the raiders he and Tara had believed to be the ones who slaughtered Maggie and Sasha in their sleep. The raiders who had tortured Bob for sport, taunting him, burning his flesh before they finally took mercy upon him. They had tracked them, these barbaric creatures, followed the trail of their destruction, with the intention of hunting him down. They had found their nest. But then they had taken her. One minute Tara had been at his side, the next they were brutalising her with their fists and she was screaming out his name. He had leapt into the fray without thought, killing at will to save her, seeking vengeance for his fallen wife and his family. They had barely escaped with their lives. Glenn had been held by two of the men as another sliced at his flesh. His face was barely recognisable as Tara sobbed, begging them to spare him. It was only the arrival of a small herd that saved them, the men abandoning their new toys to save their own hides. The pair had slipped away, tripping through the woods near deaths door. They had collapsed on the door of a small homestead, waking hours later inside and their sores tended too. They had happened upon a small community, older men with women and children. They were fed, clothed and sent on their way. Tara had pleaded for them to let them stay longer, if only to let Glenn rest and recover, but he had understood. He didn't trust strangers anymore either.

"We can stop," Tara suggests, voice hollow. She knows where he has gone in his mind, a dark place where he is forced to contemplate the possibility that he is going to lose everything he has ever held dear, and she needs to pull him back _here_, to her, before he slips away. "We don't need to do this."

He raises his head and studies his eyes, seeing nothing there but concern and hope. A hope that he feels this too, this love that she is carrying for him, a love that has irrevocably changed the person that she is and shaped the woman she had become, fierce, strong, devoted. Devoted to _him_.

He knows that in an ideal world they would probably have never even met. He knows that he would never have known the touch of her hand, the taste of her tears, tears he has kissed away more times than he cares to count. He would never have known of her biting wit, her brilliant mind, her searching insecurities. Yet he would never have known Maggie either. He would never have met Herschel, been gifted the wisdom of Dale, received the nurturing from Carol that to this day reminds him of his own mother. He would have never met his second family, a haphazard collection of individuals he thinks about and prays for everyday, that where ever they are, whoever they're with, that they are safe. That they're_ together_, like he and Tara are.

"I want this," he chokes hoarsely, his eyes showcasing the conviction his tone obviously lacks. The love she has for him is reflected now in his own eyes and she nods ever so slightly, acknowledging what she sees. "Want you, if you want me."

"Want you," she says agreeably, suddenly spurred into action by his broken confession. "Think a part of me has always wanted you."

She rolls their bodies so that she now on top of him, straddling his hips. Scooting backward, she pulls him up toward her so he is sitting and she is on his lap. His threadbare shirt is tossed to the side as he removes her tank, leaving her before him in a bra that has seen better days. Their eyes meet and she gives him yet another chance to make this go away, arching an eyebrow in his direction. He acts, pushing down the strap of her grungy apparel with his nose, kissing the skin there before gingerly reaching around to undo the hooks on her cotton underwire and pressing the side of his face to her chest. She is tense, working to thread her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. She holds him still and they stay there for the longest time before he pokes out his tongue and swipes at one pebbled nipple.

"Shit." Her mumbling catches his attention and he snickers, poking his tongue out to repeat the action on one pert breast and then the other, catching her nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly as she squirms, a burst of heat travelling straight to her groin. Glenn leans back on the cold floor, pulling her with him as he lavishes kisses and licks to both breasts and she feels a tight coil in her stomach begin to unravel, a burning desire she has denied for so long rising within her as he opens himself up to her fully. "Feels good."

He nods his acquiescence and holds still as she pulls away, running her hands down his sides to his narrow hips and he quakes a little under the burn of her fingers as she trails her hands up back up over his chest and flicks one of his nipples with her thumb. He watches as she investigates the muscular lines that continue on out of her line of sight and smarts as she suddenly swoops down and dips her tongue into his belly button. He hisses at the unexpected contact and she unapologetically latches her mouth on to his hip and bites down lightly, marking him and then soothing the stain with her lips. She pulls away, satisfied she has gotten to taste him and he drags her back up his body, flipping her under him in an effort to remain in control. Her ministrations have not gone unnoticed and the swelling in his pants is at the point of discomfort. He presses his erection against her thigh almost unconsciously and her eyes widen a little at the unfamiliar sensation. His lips find hers for the first time and he soothes her concern away with a gentle caress. "Okay?"

"Yeah." She peeks up at him and shoots him a soft smile, lifting her hips to meet his. "Okay."

He slips his hand into the front of her jeans which hang far too loosely on her slim frame given they used to hug her curves only months before. His fingers ghost over her curls at the apex of her thighs and slide down to her damp heat, a cautious finger sliding inside her as she parts her legs, wincing slightly at the intrusion. He slows and she shakes her head, urging him on and she lifts her bottom, pushing her jeans and panties down and off, baring herself to him fully. He nudges her legs open with his knee and she flushes bright red at the sight of her own nudity. Her legs haven't seen a razor in weeks. He picks up on the reason for her shyness and rolls his eyes, causing her to giggle. Her giggles turn to soft sighs as one finger becomes two and she clutches his forearms, arching her back as he finds a steady rhythm. His thumb travels to her little bundle of nerves and her stomach starts to do somersaults. Glenn persists and she can feel the coil unraveling further, building inside of her until he hits that one spot that makes her quiver and she rushes over the edge into pure happiness. Her face is scrunched up delicately as he removes his hand with a regretfully soft parting stroke. He shifts his weight and cups her cheek with his clean hand, keeping her in the moment and she licks her bottom lip as she surveys him cooly, her eyes focussing on the part of his anatomy straining against his pants. "My turn?"

He shakes his head no at her turn of phrase but his quiet chuckle tells her yes and he gives into the impulse of kissing her again, sucking lightly on her bottom lip as she opens her mouth to him and he meets her tongue with his own. She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows and he pulls at her hair band, loosening it to the point where her long curls fall around her shoulders. He loves her long hair. At night, when he succumbs to the nightmares once again, she leans over him to force him awake and her hair brushes his bicep, his cheek and he is automatically removed from his terrified state. Maggie never had long hair. Tara has long hair and with her, he is allowed to feel safe from the things that haunt him in his sleep. He's told her this in moments of weakness and she has laughed, but he feels that she is also relieved he will never confuse her with Maggie. She knows the high esteem in which he holds his late wife. She knows that he will never be rid of the love he has for her. Yet he loves Tara too. They're two very different women and he loves them both for very different and very selfish reasons. Tara is his sanity. He knew who she was when he rescued her from her own veritable prison and he loves her anyway. That she loves him back is just the icing on the cake. "Your turn."

Fumbling fingers find their way to the button fly of his jeans and she looks at him sheepishly. "It's been a while."

He matches her small smile with his own and his eyes shine, so ridiculously overcome with love for the woman lying underneath him. "Me, too."

She pulls him free of his jeans and he pushes the denim down with his soiled hand, wiping it on the fabric as he goes. He jumps as she wraps a tiny hand around his length, dragging it from base to tip before lightly scraping her nails down the underside and pressing her thumb lightly on the head. He won't last long and she knows this as she guides him into her warmth, staying at still as stone as he pushes inside. He is gentle, not wanting to hurt her and he stills also, painstakingly frozen as she adjusts to the intrusion. After an eternity she shifts her hips, lifting them against his and he slowly begins to move with her, their eyes locked as they take this final step into becoming whole within each other. Their union is not one born of grief and pain. They are not using each other for the purposes of instant gratification or for comfort. The only thing written on her face is love and Glenn thanks whoever it is that has chosen to bless him with not only the time he had with his wife, Maggie, but the time he has now with the woman he loves, Tara.

He thrusts into her with a little more certainty and she bucks back as well as she can given their awkward coupling on the kitchen floor and before she even realises what is happening he is moving faster and faster and half collapsing on top of her again as he hits his peak. She clutches him to her as he recovers, dazed and overwhelmed at what they have just done but not regretting any of it.

"You're so skinny," she says accusingly, drawn from the afterglow of their meeting. She wants to know things are going to be okay between them. Wants to know this hasn't caused some sort of irreparable damage to their friendship. "You need to eat more."

"I eat plenty," he groans tiredly, rubbing at his sore knee, the incidental catalyst for this parlay of intimacy. She deflects concern with sarcasm and humour and he knows this, feels her burden and worry and reacts in kind, slipping back to their usual banter in times of levity. He kisses her hair and presses himself into her side, knowing they should get dressed and be prepared just in case of emergency but he finds himself wanting to linger and enjoy the moment. "You need to shave your legs."

"You need to brush your teeth," she counters, a teasing smile on her lips as she brushes a clump of sweaty hair from his forehead. "And shave your legs!"

"My legs are fine." His voice hitches in his throat and his tone is dangerously low. "You need to let me do that again."

She stops. "Let you do what?"

"Let me show you I love you. Okay?"

Her lips are bruised and her eyes bright as she considers his declaration. He has never been so forthcoming with her before. She has seen every side of him. But she has never seen him like this. She imagines it is what he used to be like before his world was turned upside down and the thought thrills her more than she say. Her lips quirk upward and she shrugs nonchalantly, like she doesn't care, even though his words have set her soul souring. "Okay."


End file.
